


Eyes on Me

by nogoaway



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Rvb Happy Hour, brief mention of York/Tex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoaway/pseuds/nogoaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team fluff, awkward leave sex, and guys bein' dudes. 40% porn 60% banter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes on Me

York never brought up what had happened in Recovery with Tex. It was only the once, and he hadn’t even been dating North at the time— not that they were dating now, exactly, but he hadn’t been fucking North, or even thinking about fucking North, so ultimately it was none of North’s business. It wasn’t like it was a secret or anything, it was just, well. He was a little embarrassed about it. He’d been having a rough couple of days. He caught a grenade to the face, and he got shot in the junk, and he spent a good seventy-two hours there about 50/50 on whether he was ever going to be able to see again, ever. All things which helped explain why a perfunctory, rather brutal hand-job from a woman he barely knew had him shooting off in under a minute. Embarrassing, sure, but York was trying to prepare himself for a future of never having sex with another human being ever again except maybe for the odd sympathetic prostitute who he could convince to make a house call to his sad little military pension apartment with the nailed-down furniture and the braille labels on all the soup cans. If he even qualified for a pension. At this point, York wouldn’t be at all surprised if the retirement plan for Project Freelancer was just “take ‘em out back and shoot ‘em”.  
  
In any event, it was only the once. York really wasn’t aiming on more than once with someone whose idea of post-coital chit-chat was “Wow. That was kind of pathetic.”  
  
Tex was a bitch, but that went without saying. A bitch with freaky, magic hands, but whatever. No skin off his nose. It was way safer to just think of Tex as a sexless robot who saved York’s life on a weekly basis and never seemed to sleep. All the fun of hanging out with someone who could literally kick his ass into next week, none of the existential terror and premature ejaculation. A good deal all around.  
  
It hadn’t ever occurred to him that it might not have been magic hands, or stress, or any of that, until months later, when they were all out on leave, taking over Hangar 18. The Hangar was the cheapest dive bar within walking distance of the Manassas Space Port UNSC Docking Subsection, and although it was pretty much always full of Navy, the vast bulk of them cleared out whenever the MOI docked. No one wanted to drink with Special Ops, apparently. They had a _reputation_.  
  
"You can’t fit that in your mouth," Connie slurred, glaring at South across the bar with her feet up across the two stools to her left. South closed her lips around the shot glass, cheeks bulging.  
  
"Why," Carolina said, directly into the plexiglass bar. "Why would you."  
  
"Mpphhh mmmpphh mmrrrrmpphh," South said, and smiled. She’d flipped the thing around, so that the top pointed out. The liquor was missing, which York supposed was the point. He was working on a glass himself, but he’d been taking it slow. He was gonna blow North’s fucking mind tonight, he had plans, and he’d already shelled out a couple hundred creds for a hotel room with a nice bed and a bath with jets and it wasn’t even by the hour, so hopefully they wouldn’t have to listen to everyone _else_ having sex. It was gonna be fucking excellent.  
  
"Someone," Wash groaned, and stumbled heavily into the bar, hitting the corner with a force that looked painful "help." His pool cue clattered to the floor. Somewhere out behind them in the room, Florida laughed. York could tell it was Florida because even buzzed, he felt the air temperature go down a few notches and goosebumps rise on his arms. That laugh was fucking terrifying, and he heard it with equal frequency over foosball in the rec room and over corpses in the field. ("Crispy," Florida had said once, and pulled the index fingers off of a Charon grunt who got caught in the undercarriage of their extraction plane. He’d _kept_ them.)  
  
"What’s the matter, Rookie?" York asked, reaching a hand out to steady him.  
  
Wash favored him with a pathetic expression, the one half-way between ‘kicked puppy’ and ‘timid deer’. “He won’t stop saying it.”  
  
"Saying what," Carolina grumbled, and banged her fist on the bar without moving her head. "Another."  
  
” _Billiards_ ,” Wash moaned, and sure enough, Wyoming’s booming RP echoed from the corner, _Billiards, lad_!  
  
Something warm slid over York’s face; he shut his eyes protectively, and the world went dark. It took him a moment to register that it was hands; the bar seemed much louder, all of a sudden. He could hear the crack of pool shots behind him, and Florida and Wyoming’s muffled talk, Carolina’s breathing off to his left and the different frequencies piping out from each of the speakers, bass and lower sound quality from the one closest to them. The after-images of lights— gleams on the bar, from the ceiling fans, his glass— sparked for a few seconds, and then faded. He was aware of the heaviness in his limbs, the unyielding flatness of the bar under his elbows. There was someone standing behind him, warm and solid, and he could hear _everything_ ; even the rain outside was loud, and precise.  
  
It had to be North; no one else had such big hands, except maybe for Maine, and he didn’t touch York outside of sparring unless it was to pick him up and move him somewhere else, usually away from wherever it was Maine wanted to be.  
  
He meant to say ‘hey man’, but North’s thumbs grazed over his temples on either side of his face, slow and deliberate, and York’s entire body broke out in a shudder. Jesus, North was so warm, and York could feel every callous on those thumbs, fancied he could pick out the details of each whorl of North’s prints, but that was ridiculous.  
  
“‘M drunk,” he muttered, and North huffed a breath into his hair, stirring strands and sending prickles spreading out across York’s scalp, down his neck and arms, into his hands.  
  
"Hmm. You alright?" North asked, and the hands vanished.  
  
York blinked dumbly out at the room. It was just a bar. It wasn’t particularly loud. He was noticing the smells now, though, and when he closed his eyes again experimentally he could differentiate them— beer, fries, liquor, sweat. North’s deodorant and his own hair gel, Wash’s cologne and South’s gum.  
  
"Did I take somethin’?" he mumbled, meaning to just direct it at Delta, but it came out of his mouth, if sloppily.  
_  
Aside from six ounces of overpriced bourbon_ , Delta replied, unimpressed as usual _your body chemistry is completely normal_.  
  
"I hope not." North steered Wash gently in the direction of Connie, who looped an arm around Rookie’s shoulders and coaxed him onto a stool. "I have plans for you tonight."  
  
"Nah," York squinted at the bottom of his glass. Melting ice. Cold. "I’ve got plans for _you_.”  
  
"I’m not hearing this conversation," Carolina mumbled, half into her sixth scotch "for the record. Because if I heard it, I would have to report it to Internals."  
  
"Lucky for us, boss, you aren’t gonna remember shit." South slung an arm over her back, patting too roughly at her hair, and York winced. This would not end well. But Lina didn’t so much as shrug her off, just tolerated South playing with her ponytail. Yeah, she was smashed.  
  
"Still," North said, and curled a hand around York’s shoulder that felt like the warmest, nicest iron vise, "maybe we should be having it elsewhere."  
  
"Mmmph," York agreed, and tilted his head to rub his cheek along North’s knuckles. Warm. Familiar.  
  
"That’s your cue," North said, and York could practically hear the raised eyebrows, the fond smile.  
  
York glanced down at Wash’s abandoned pool cue, came up with half of a pun, and swallowed it. “Less go,” he mumbled, and let North pull him up off the stool. He rummaged in his pockets for a tip, and Delta helpfully directed him to the appropriate coins.  
  
"Delta’s awake, then," North noted, when York had set two five-cred pieces on the bar. "You always under tip."  
  
"He always over tips," York shot back.  
  
North shook his head. “It’s so easy to tell who’s worked a service job,” he said, and turned them in the direction of the door.  
  
"Hey, I’ve done," York protested, yanking his coat off the hook as they passed by "stuff. For people. Provided services."  
  
"Bank heists don’t count," North said, dryly, and stopped York with an arm across his chest "neither does petty theft. That’s not your jacket."  
  
York stared at it. “Oh.”  
  
North rolled his eyes, and after another minute of clumsy shuffling they were both out on the street, wrapped in their own coats. York took the opportunity to light a cigarette as they walked.  
  
"You’re not that drunk," North observed, when he didn’t fumble with the lighter.  
  
"Nah," York agreed, and took a drag with his eyes closed. It tasted sharper than usual, tobacco and smoke weaving in among the city smells, the fresh wet scent of the rain. "Just feelin’ strange, a little." North was walking on his left side, his blind side, and that always helped York relax. North wouldn’t let anything sneak up on him.  
  
"Hmm," North said, and slipped an arm around York’s waist, just resting it there, steering him straight. It was nice enough, if odd; PDA wasn’t exactly a thing they did, but York supposed it was leave. They could be anybody out here. He might as well enjoy it, or let North enjoy it. North was into that kind of thing, holding hands and shit.  
  
"You ever wonder," York asked, leaning into him just a little "What it’s like to be blind?"  
  
North’s arm tightened, and he looked down at York with a slight frown. “Are you still having those nightmares? You should have told me.  
”  
"What?" York glanced up at him. North was stupid tall. He wished they were at the hotel and in bed already, where he didn’t have to be reminded of how short he was. "Oh, nah. Not that." He’d had dreams that he lost both eyes for maybe a week after he got out of medical; he didn’t remember telling North about them, but he must have. "It’s just. You keep your eyes closed for long enough, you get all sensitive, you know? To sounds and shit." He inhaled deeply, let the smoke burn his lungs. "Ignore me. I’m drunk."  
  
"Well, yes," North said, helpfully steering the both of them around a corner and into the hotel’s parking lot. "That’s why some people wear blindfolds."  
  
It took York a minute to parse that one. “I always forget that you’re into that. Kinky shit.” Well, that was an outright lie. His plan tonight was mostly based on knowing that North was into kinky shit. It just hadn’t really occurred to him— “Wait. Have you _done_ that?”  
  
North laughed then, a low rumbling thing that made his side shake against York’s, and then they were stepping into the dry warmth of the building and North let go of him to head for the desk.  
  
___________  
  
"Good catch on the jacket," York called from the bathroom, as he unzipped the inner pocket and toed off his boots "would’ve foiled my plans." And left a fun little surprise for whoever found his coat; he pulled the pair of panties out and stared at them. They looked so small just hanging from his hand, but they fit; he’d tried them before when the package came. Black silk and red lace trim; they had been uncomfortable, but York had also spent the full three minutes with them on panicking that someone would walk through the door and see him (he was undecided on who would be worse, Wash, Wyoming, or the Director himself). He’d shaved since then, too, so hopefully the lace would, well, catch less. _That_ had been an interesting exercise.  
  
It wasn’t that York was worried about North losing interest if he kept things too vanilla; York’s day didn’t revolve around getting laid, frankly (although it was nice), and he couldn’t imagine there was anyone around to lure North away; to his knowledge all the other guys on the team were straight.  
  
It wasn’t that he was especially curious, either— York was a pretty simple guy, with simple needs, and the stuff North liked to get up to, with leather and handcuffs and god knew what else, just seemed like unnecessary complications, like putting peanut butter into a perfectly good cup of coffee. York didn’t have anything against peanut butter, but when he wanted a cup of coffee, he wanted a cup of coffee, and peanut butter didn’t belong there.  
  
It was more like he wanted to do something nice for North, like a favor. A gesture of good will. Buddies did that, and being buddies who fucked opened up this whole new venue for gestures of good will that tended to result in getting favors _back_ , like sucking North off and then getting to fuck him when he was all relaxed and sleepy, which was A plus in York’s book. He’d do something similar for North’s birthday, if North’s birthday wasn’t highly classified. So this was kind of like that. ‘Happy not-birthday, man, I’m wearing women’s underwear and you can tie me up. Just this once.’ It seemed like the dudely thing to do.  
  
What was not dudely, what was not kosher or copacetic _at all_ , was North bursting into laughter as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom.  
  
"I’m hurt," York said, bracing his arms on the door frame. "You hurt my feelings." Which was a little bit true, if he was being honest. He didn’t look _that_ bad, did he?  
  
"Sorry," North gasped, and flopped backwards onto the bed, chest shuddering and his arm flung over his face. "Sorry, I just— did you _shave_?”  
  
"Yes," York replied, with no small amount of heat "and it _itched_. It _still_ itches. I made sacrifices for you, bro, and I do not appreciate this” he waved a hand in the general direction of the bed “this _ridicule_.”  
  
North’s stomach shook with suppressed laughter. “This was your plan. Where did you even get those?” He hefted himself up on his elbows, mouth twisted and lips pinched like he was trying not to smile. “Tell me you didn’t steal them off Carolina.”  
  
"Good god, no." York was momentarily stunned; just the thought of it kind of made him fear for his life. "But if 479er ever wants something outta me she’s got blackmail material. Although," he poked at his cock through the cloth "I gotta say I’m not really seeing the appeal. Explain it to me?"  
  
"I think there’s been a misunderstanding," North was smiling now, but it was less ‘I’m amused’ and more ‘York, you big dummy’ "I don’t get the appeal either."  
  
"But," York said, and then, "but. But I did research? Magazines were involved, dude, and things I will never unsee."  
  
"Well. It’s the thought that counts," North’s smile was creeping back into amused, with a hint of that meanness he was so damn terrible at hiding, how come no one else ever saw it? North was a complete dick. A total asshole, and he laughed at guys in lady’s underwear who were only trying to do him a good turn. "Come over here."  
  
"No," York decided, and rocked back onto his heels, folding his arms over his chest. "I don’t think I will. Maybe I’ll just stay in here. Since no one out there," and he pointed out at the room, the nice queen-sized bed and the desk and the cooler full of expensive bottled water "appreciates me or my plan."  
  
"Don’t pout," North grinned "And who said I didn’t appreciate it? I’m appreciating it very much. You have a very" he choked a little "very nice figure. Classic hourglass, really."  
  
"Yeeeup," York continued, ignoring him "Could just spend the night right here in the can. There’s a tub. It has jets."  
  
"Come here," North said again, and he wasn’t laughing any more, just warm. "I promise I won’t make fun."  
  
"Liar," York said, but went anyway, curling his toes into the thick carpet with appreciation. Everything in here was warm and soft, even North’s skin, and York climbed onto the bed on his knees, straddling North’s waist. "I go to all this effort—" he sat down, letting his full weight rest on North’s stomach and chest. "Seriously. Did you know they sell _horse_ dildos? _Never unsee_.”  
  
North curled his hands over York’s folded knees, rubbed at the skin with his thumbs. “Thank you for your efforts, York,” he said with deep gravitas, lips twitching. “You were very brave. And pretty. Do you want me to tell you you’re pretty?”  
  
"Can’t hurt," York admitted, and preened a little. Then he paused. "You’re not into the horse cock thing, though, right?" he asked, just to be sure. “‘Cause I can order one, if that’s what it takes. It would be your _only_ not-birthday present, though. Like, five years worth of not-birthdays. Ten, if I have to go to medical to get it ex—”  
  
"Stop," North cut him off, dissolving into laughter again. With York sitting on his stomach it sounded more like he was choking. "No, okay? I don’t know where you got this idea, but no."  
  
"You keep rope in your trunk." York thumped him on the chest, lightly. "And those cuff things, what was I supposed to think?"  
  
North sighed, trailing his hands up and down York’s thighs, firmly enough that they didn’t tickle on the unusually smooth skin. “You don’t really understand the whole privacy thing, do you?”  
  
"You’d be better off not locking things you don’t want me to see," York informed him, without the slightest shame "It only makes me curious. You know, the siren call of the forbidden."  
  
"Uh huh," North tapped him on the waist "and what about the siren call of common courtesy?"  
  
"That one’s more like a dog whistle," York explained, and ground down, lightly. The underwear still felt weird, but North was very warm and his dick was starting to wake up to that fact "Only perceptible at a very limited frequency."  
  
"To which you are not attuned," North concluded.  
  
"Got it in one," York leaned down, setting his hands on the bed at either side of North’s head "You’re so smart, man. No wonder I like you and do nice things for you."  
  
North rolled his eyes. “Are you really asking?”  
  
"Kind of?" York was curious, but if North didn’t want to talk about it, that was fine, too.  
  
"I like," North dipped a thumb under the waistband of the panties, running it along the smoothness of York’s groin "lots of things. I like what we do. But sometimes I’ll have a partner who wants to hand control and responsibility over to me. To be taken care of." He pulled his thumb out, and smoothed the flat of his hand over York’s cock, gently pressing the silk into his skin. It was different than feeling him through cotton, warmer and sleeker and a little like bumping into North when they were in their undersuits, and that was going to be a problem, if York started to associate his work uniform with boners and lacy underthings. "So no, not crossdressing or horses. Just…" he paused, and York watched his face tighten, like it often did when North was trying to find the right words for something that he wasn’t used to talking about "trust. I don’t know what your magazine would call it."  
  
"Oh," York said, rocking his hips just a little, idly. North’s hand curled tighter around him, obliging. "That seems, yeah. Seems like you."  
  
"Mmhmm," North kneaded at his balls through the silk, slowly smoothing them apart with his thumb.  
  
"I trust you. You know that, right?" York trusted North about lots of things, most of them way more important than sex. Trusted him to have York’s back, to keep an eye on him from above, to be an excellent shot. Trusted North to do his job, and to let York do his. "Just can’t trust you not to laugh at me, I guess."  
  
North gave him a light, apologetic squeeze. “Sorry. You startled me, is all. I do appreciate the thought.”  
  
"Nah, it’s cool." York sat up fully, reaching back to fumble with the button on North’s jeans. The warm iron disk in his fingers reminded him of working a holo lock with synth gloves, and he closed his eyes to envision it better, used his sense of touch to judge the distance, the angle, the give of the cloth. The button slipped out, and he worked the zip down, peeling it open over the bulge of North’s dick in his boxers. "Maybe we could do that thing you like. Sometime. Maybe the other way around, too, do you do that?"  
  
"Sometimes." North tapped him on the cheek, and York opened his eyes, glancing down. That was North-speak for ‘look at me when I’m talking to you and don’t bullshit me’. "Are you interested in that?"  
  
York took a moment to think about it. “Kinda? Maybe? I don’t know.” He leaned down, setting his hands on North’s shoulders and pressing him into the comforter. It was hard to imagine North being submissive, but York liked the idea of taking care of him. North took care of everyone else all the time; he deserved an occasional seeing to. Also, payback.  
  
"Well," North rubbed at him again, harder, and York hissed; he was already half-hard and the panties were starting to feel very confining. He hadn’t really thought that one through very well. Not much give in a women’s size medium. "If it’s something you’d like to explore, I’m willing to consider it."  
  
"Oh," York said, and ground down again, harder, trapping North’s hand between their stomachs "that’s good. We should do that. Later."  
  
"Later," North agreed, and dragged his hand free, gripping York’s hip and surging under him. York flailed for a fraction of a second, but North had already flipped them, and between North’s weight and the few inches North had on him, York was effectively pinned.  
  
"You ass," he punched North in the shoulder, and North grinned down at him, stretching his legs to shimmy out of his jeans and underwear.  
  
"I can’t help it," North deadpanned, kicking the pants onto the floor and toeing his socks off "you’re just _so pretty_.”  
  
"God," York threw an arm across his face in utter despair "I’ve made a horrible, horrible mistake."  
  
"Yeah." North buzzed a raspberry into his abs and York choked in surprise, swallowing his own spit. "And the worst part is I’m like an elephant. I never forget."  
  
"Fuck you," York coughed, eyes squeezed shut behind his elbow. The light from the ceiling fan had seared a red circle behind his eyelids, and he waited for it to fade.  
  
"That was the plan," North patted him on the ribs consolingly, but the weird sensory thing was kicking in again and it made his whole side tingle, armpit to thigh. North kneaded at him again through the underwear, smearing the damp silk over the head of York’s cock with his thumb, and woah, was _that_ the appeal? Because _damn_.  
  
_If you would like_ , Delta said, _I can temporarily disrupt the signals from your optic nerve._  
  
York’s eyes snapped open and his arm abandoned his face to grab North by the wrist.  
  
"Woah there," he said, aloud, and North froze immediately, pulling his hands back and giving York a questioning look. "No, wait. I’m fine." North was always so strict on the continuous consent thing. "Delta’s just being, well."  
  
"Being what?" North asked, but his hands were back, thank god, and York arched up into them, digging his heels into the mattress.  
  
"Kind of kinky, actually," York told the ceiling, and exhaled in a hiss when North finally dragged the underwear down to his thighs, freeing him. "You’d be proud". They’d had the Delta discussion a long time ago; York was kind of a package deal at this point, even though Delta usually _kept his opinions to himself during York’s private time._  
  
_It was merely a suggestion, York._  
  
_Backseat driver_ , York returned.  
  
"Care to share with the class?" North asked, idly stroking him. His own dick was hard against York’s thigh. It was forever a mystery to York how North could get a boner so easily in bed, but never seemed to pop inconvenient ones during work. It seemed unfair, but York usually benefited, so.  
  
"You know that eye thing I was talking about?"  
  
"Mmhmm?" North leaned in to scrape teeth lightly over York’s chest.  
  
"He says he can, ya know. Hook me up with that."  
  
North’s hand slowed, and he dug his chin into York’s pectoral, staring up at him. “Delta. Is that safe?”  
  
_For a given definition of safety_ , Delta said.  
  
"Completely," York assured him, and flicked North on the forehead "also, up. You’ve got the world’s sharpest jaw, dude."  
  
North chuckled, but obeyed when York carded fingers into his hair and pushed. “Hey, I’m not the one with ice pick elbows. You could—” he paused.  
  
“‘Put an eye out’,” York finished, and rolled his remaining one. “Come on, when have I ever been a pussy about it?”  
  
"Language," North scolded.  
  
"Oh, come on."  
  
"It’s sexist. We’ve talked about this."  
  
They had, indeed, talked about it.  
  
"Okay, okay," York let his head thump back into the pillow "I’m sorry."  
  
"One day you’ll slip up and say that around South," North informed him, between soft scrapes of teeth down York’s ribs and stomach "and you’ll learn what sorry really is." He licked at York’s cock, and then nosed down to his balls, running his lips over them with huffing breath that felt like soft laughter.  
  
"What?" York asked, finally, and tugged at his hair.  
  
"I can’t believe you _shaved_ ,” North gasped, and licked him on the inside of his very smooth, very itchy thigh.  
  
"I’m ignoring you now," York decided, and turned his attention back to Delta. _So disrupt me_ , he thought, and the world immediately went dark— impossible dark, deep space dark, and his heart rate spiked for a moment before he exhaled slowly, coming back to himself.  
  
_York. Are you all right?_  
  
_I’m fine_ , he thought, hyper-aware of North’s weight on him, the warmth radiating off his skin; the scratch of the comforter and the dryness of circulated air on his face. He was fine. Safe. _Go take a nap or something._  
  
_Very well._  
  
Something wet and hot slid up the length of his cock, and his hips jerked, bumping him into what could only be North’s nose.  
  
"Ow, jesus," North grunted, and a hand clamped down on York’s hip, too tight.  
  
"Sorry." York mumbled, spreading his fingers apart in North’s hair, and he could have distinguished individual strands, could practically feel how pale and gold it was. "I, uh. Can’t see."  
  
The bed dipped on either side of him, and then North’s hands cupped his face.  
  
"It’s a little creepy," he said, turning York’s head this way and that, just tilting it into the light, but it felt dizzying, massive. "They’re both open."  
  
York blinked, intentionally, and then again. Nothing. No difference at all.  
  
"So," he offered, fumbling for North’s shoulders and then running his hands up and down his arms, his chest, mapping the smoothness of ink and the prickle of hair and the ripple of scars "what’re the odds we can do this without breaking your nose?"  
  
_________  
  
"Well. That was… interesting," North said, directly into his neck, and York barely heard him he was shaking so hard. He felt like something in his brain had short-circuited.  
  
"Tell me," he gasped, finally "that was more than a minute." His legs were twitching. Why were his legs twitching?  
  
North’s forehead crinkled against his cheek. “Well, yes. Not by much, though.” North’s hand crawled up his stomach, wiping off, and York would get him for that later, the bastard, once he regained the use of his limbs. “Are you all right?”  
  
"Lights," York mumbled, because there were lights, but Delta seemed to take it as an order because he was immediately flooded with the piercing white of the room, and he had to screw his eyes shut. "Ow, fuck."  
  
_I apologize_ , Delta said, without the slightest hint of sincerity _Your pupils have dilated._  
  
"No shit," York hissed, and blinked fiercely against the wash of red and sparks.  
  
"York." North’s face, when it came into focus, was half concern and half frustration. "Are you _all right_?”  
  
"Yeah," York said, automatically, and then stopped for a minute to actually evaluate. The twitching was easing up, and he had enough endorphins zipping around to power a small city, and he kind of felt like he’d just been punched in the gut by an orgasm, but over all? "Fine."  
  
"Good," North replied, with what sounded like genuine relief "Though I’m guessing that wasn’t all me."  
  
"Smart man." York stared at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, all too gradually. "I need, like. An entire carton of cigarettes."  
  
"Do you think you could put that on hold," North’s voice was dry as he nudged York in the ribs with an elbow "until after?"  
  
"After?" York asked the ceiling fan, dully, and then "oh!"  
  
"Yes, _oh_ ,” North gritted, and ground his boner into York’s hand, which had been busy for (a little over) one minute and had then gone completely slack the moment his climax hit. York squeezed him consolingly, or he tried to. It kind of felt like his hand was asleep.  
  
"I, uh," he said, staring down at his arm, which stubbornly refused to move. "Can’t actually move my wrist. At the moment." His fingers were starting to tingle and wake back up. "Give it thirty seconds."  
  
"Oh for god’s sake."  
  
________  
  
"That’s too much cilantro," York called, from the depths of the walk-in freezer. There had to be taquitos in here somewhere. He’d seen Maine eating them. Just because he’d made special mute friends with that server on the lunch shift didn’t mean he got to keep all the taquitos to himself. Taquitos should be communal. It was damaging to the team ethic, was what it was.  
  
"What the fuck do you know?" South shouted back, over the sound of vehement chopping. It was all chopping. There ought to be a combination of chopping and scraping, which meant someone was fucking up. "Who made you the guacamole police?"  
  
"I can _smell_ it,” York insisted, digging past a saran-wrapped block of ‘beef patties’ with frozen fingers “it smells like—” he shut his eyes, inhaling deeply “Like Wash drank an entire bottle of dish soap, and then burped. Which, stop mauling those tomatillos, Rookie. Use a serrated knife.”  
  
"The fuck?" That was Wash, of course. "What is _wrong_ with you?”  
  
"York’s very sensitive to sounds and smells," North said, at a completely normal volume, and York heard him anyway, through the hissing of the pan on the range. "Among other things."  
  
"Thin ice, North," Carolina warned, stirring the rice too vigorously "there’s nothing wrong with my hearing, either."  
  
"God," York pounded his fist on the steel wall "where _are_ they? I know I didn’t dream them up. Maybe he’s stashing them somewhere.” He stuck his head back out into the industrial-sized mess kitchen. “Wash. Does Maine have a secret freezer? Where is the taquito mother-lode?”  
  
"For the last time, York," Carolina said, not even bothering to turn and glare at him. She seemed to be occupied with turning their chipotle lime rice into a smoothie. "If it’s not in the manifest, it’s not on board. _There are no taquitos_.”  
  
"We could make some," North offered, for the third time. "We have corn tortillas." He scraped a handful of minced garlic into his massive skillet, shaking the handle to distribute it in the oil.  
  
"It’s not the _same_ ,” York whined, and stumbled directly into him, resting his cheek between North’s shoulder blades.  
  
"Watch it," North rumbled, and pressed back. York just sagged further into him, grabbing at his shirt to stay upright. He was bereft. Life was emptiness. "Don’t want to get hot oil on that sensitive skin of yours."  
  
"Do not," York said, into the shirt. "Elephants. No."  
  
"Elephants," North agreed, and York knew he was smiling that mean little smile. North’s mean little smile had a mean little tone of voice that went with it, and York could pick up on that shit. He was _highly_ attuned. “Speaking of which, I got you a not-birthday present.”  
  
"Oh nooooo," York groaned, and burrowed further into his shoulders, ignoring South’s theatrical gagging noises from behind them.  
  
"Oh yes," North confirmed cheerily, stirring the garlic. "A whole carton of floral scented, ultra moisturizing shaving cream. For discerning ladies with delicate skin."  
  
"Okay," Carolina called, "That’s it. Everyone out of the kitchen."  
  
North laughed, clicking the range off. “Are you going to finish all this by yourself?” He reached down to drag one of York’s arms around his waist, to keep him from slumping down any further.  
  
"No." Carolina turned from the pot to brandish her spoon at them. A clump of overcooked rice splattered onto the floor. "By ‘everyone’, I meant you two, in particular. In fact, go have a spar, or clean the head, or something. That’s an order."  
  
"That’s code for stop macking on my brother in public," South supplied, completely unnecessarily. "Dickbiscuit," she added, as an afterthought.  
  
"So long as she doesn’t _see_ it,” Wash agreed, and York was relieved to hear that he was finally using a proper cutting utensil “it’s not actually happening.”  
  
York took this opportunity to start heading for the hallway, which mostly meant trying and failing to drag North _towards_ the hallway. “We get it. Nothing to see here.”  
  
"Just guys being dudes," North confirmed, extracting himself from York’s grip and then slapping a hand on his shoulder with exaggerated casualness. "Let’s go, York. We can have a spar, or clean the head, or something."  
  
"I’ll clean _your_ head,” York mumbled, and narrowly dodged the spoon that Carolina sent like a bar dart straight at the door.


End file.
